Slow Trip | Sydney to Melbourne

There are faster ways to get to Melbourne. You can point the car at the freeway, settle into the rhythm of trucks and overtaking lanes, and be there by nightfall. But that was never the plan.

For this road trip, we took the long way. Four days from Sydney to Melbourne, avoiding the freeways where we could, following smaller roads through country towns, forgotten highways and the kinds of places that only really make sense when you’re travelling in old cars.

The convoy was an unlikely little snapshot of Volkswagen history: a 1954 Beetle, a Volkswagen Notchback, and a Mk3 Golf. Three cars from different eras, built for different lives, all heading to the same destination. Dubfest in Melbourne.

But like most good road trips, the destination wasn’t really the point. This trip was about the space in between.

It was about early starts and cold engines. Fuel stops and roadside coffees. Watching the fog lift off paddocks in the morning and seeing the light change across the dash as the day stretched out in front of us. It was about pulling into quiet main streets, parking old Volkswagens beneath faded shop signs and country pubs, and being reminded that some cars just look more at home in small towns than they ever do in city traffic.

There’s something about taking old roads in old cars that makes more sense than it should. The pace changes. You notice more. You stop more often. You talk more. You end up in places you would have blasted straight past any other time.

Over four days we traced our way south through back roads and regional towns, staying off the major highways as much as possible. No rush. No need to be anywhere too soon. Just three Volkswagens moving through the landscape at their own speed.

The ’54 Beetle brought all the character you’d expect — simple, honest, and full of presence. The Notchback felt right at home on the quieter roads, low and steady, built for touring. And then there was the Mk3 Golf, the youngest of the group and in some ways the odd one out, but just as much a part of the story. Different generation, same spirit. That’s part of what made the trip work.

It wasn’t about building a perfect period-correct convoy. It was about friendship, shared taste, and the simple fact that these cars still get used. Not trailered. Not parked up and preserved for the occasional Sunday. Driven. Loaded with bags and gear and camera equipment, covered in road grime by the end of each day, then fired up again the next morning to do it all over.

Somewhere along the way, the trip became a reminder of what makes these cars matter in the first place. It’s the way they pull people together. The way they slow time down. The way a road trip in an old Volkswagen can make a small town feel cinematic, and a servo stop feel like part of the story.

By the time we reached Melbourne, Dubfest was waiting for us and that was great. But the truth is, the best part had already happened somewhere out on the road. In the fog, in the back streets, at the bakery stops, on the empty stretches of bitumen between one country town and the next.

A four-day run from Sydney to Melbourne and back through small towns and forgotten highways, chasing the long way round for no reason other than it felt right.